Magical Intervention
by Barcardivodka
Summary: With someone murdering the city's rough sleepers, DI Robbie Lewis is finally able to confront his sergeant James Hathaway about his magic. Modern AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**_**: **__With someone murdering the city's rough sleepers, DI Robbie Lewis is finally able to confront his sergeant James Hathaway about his magic._ Modern AU.

**Authors Notes:** With many thanks to my beta's Mirth and Jay, who poked, prodded, listened to tantrums and soothed moments of despair during the writing of this story.

Any mistakes are mine and mine alone, so please do not steal them.

* * *

"Bloody hell!"

James Hathaway jerked around in surprise at the loud voice, visibly blanching as he looked into the shocked face of the spirit that stood next to him.

"Is that me?" it asked in trepidation, pointing to the body at their feet. Hathaway looked down at the gruesome remains, his posture stiffening as he caught Laura Hobson's bewildered expression.

"Everything all right, James?" Laura asked carefully.

"I'm dead, ain't I?" the apparition queried at the same time, voice full of fright.

"Yes," James answered stonily, eyes flickering between Laura and the apparition before turning on his heel and walking quickly away. Hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his overcoat, clenched tightly into fists, he made his way along the frozen towpath, the icy wind bringing colour back to his cheeks.

"Hey! Where you going? You're the only one who can see me, right?" the apparition yelled after him.

James kept walking until he rounded a bend in the path, finally out of view of everyone milling around the crime scene. He dug out a pack of cigarettes and pulled one out, trembling hands shielding the lighter from the wind as he lit it. He took a deep drag and expelled the smoke in a heavy breath, the usual calming action doing nothing to dispel his growing anxiety.

"You're one of them, aren't you?" the apparition asked in horror, once again at his side.

"Yes," James answered unhappily, looking at his feet.

"Are you… am I… do you control me now?" it asked with growing revulsion and alarm.

"It doesn't work like that," James snapped angrily. "You'll pass over to the Forbidden Realm in a few minutes, no one can stop that, not even someone like me," he took another drag of his cigarette, smoke curling from his nose.

"But I thought…" it started to say in confusion.

"Yeah, well, you thought wrong," James bitterly interrupted as he rubbed at his forehead. "You belong to you," he added forcefully. "No one can force you to leave the Forbidden Realm, unless you want to leave and you can only leave if a Necromancer opens up a vortex between the two realms," he wearily explained. "A spirit can only stay in this realm for a few hours before they have to cross back over," he added, flicking the gathered ash from his cigarette, "a new spirit like you can only stay for a few minutes."

"Oh, so …," it paused for a moment, "it's all a heap of crap, then? About Necromancer's? Einstein got it right, with his theory of Realmivity?" it asked.

James frowned at the apparition.

"I might have been a homeless drunk, boy," it said crossly, "but I had a normal life once, I used to have some idea of what was going on in the world."

"Sorry," James mumbled.

"Take it you're a copper, then?" it asked, "little bastard's murdered me," it added furiously.

"No," James shouted in panic, "you can't tell me," he began backing away from the apparition, one hand held in front of him as if to ward the spirit off.

"Why not?" it asked perplexed, "I remember everything. They kicked me to death, they smacked my head in with a baseball bat!" it bellowed in rage, " why the fucking hell don't you want….hey, what you doing?" it cried out as it started to flicker from existence, growing translucent, "you fucking bastard," it yelled out before disappearing.

James took in a shaky breath, throwing the cigarette into the river before running both hands over his face and through his hair. "Get a grip, James!" he gritted out.

He was beyond tired; exhaustion making his mental shields weak, easily broken. He'd never been like the others, who had to chant and conjure spells for their magic to work, his was just there. It took no effort to cast his magic, he didn't even have to the say the words out loud, merely think them and his abilities seemed to grow stronger every year.

James had been accepted into the Order of Priests when he had inadvertently shown his powers whilst at University. It had been a joy at first, to be with others of his kind, to be accepted and not looked upon with fear or suspicion. A year into training he had discovered what really happened to those who practiced Necromancy, although the Order never found out, Hathaway was talented in all the arts of magic, not just proficient in one. But his strongest talent was the curse of Necromancy, a talent that….

"James? You all right, lad?"  
_ 

"Morning," Robbie greeted, hunching his shoulders up against the biting wind, wishing that he'd remembered to grab a scarf before leaving his flat this morning.

"No Hathaway?" he asked Laura who stood near the body, legs encased in the white forensic suit, the rest of her huddled in a thick jacket, the hood pulled up.

"He's been here for over half an hour, already given him my preliminary report," Laura scolded teasingly, "what took you so long?"

"Accident on the ring road," Robbie grumbled," had to cut through Kennington."

Robbie's eyes took in the scene, the bare branches of the trees that edged the towpath twisted and rattled in the wintry wind, contrasting against the backdrop of muted browns the white clad SOCO team stood out starkly as they moved with deliberate slowness, examining and photographing the area, uniformed officers in fluorescent jackets, their backs to the wind, wishing they were back at the nick out of the cold.

"Where is he then?" Robbie queried, as he looked at Laura.

"He took off over there about a minute ago, I would say I think he saw you coming," Laura teased, as she pointed down the towpath "but I think he saw," she indicated the dead body, "you know instead," she finished quietly to ensure she wasn't overheard.

Robbie breathed out a heavy sigh, looking in the direction Laura had indicated.

"What am I going to do with the awkward sod?" Robbie asked, more to himself than Laura. "He hides it like he's a Traditional," he added as he turned his gaze back to Laura, who gave him a sad smile.

"Could have solved this case by now if he'd used his magic," Robbie declared, "That Second-Sighter we had in didn't know their bloody arse from their elbow. Hathaway could have found out everything just by talking to the spirits."

"I don't think it's as simple as that, Robbie," Laura replied, "and besides magical intervention is not admissible in court," she pointed out.

"But magical investigation is," Robbie countered, "as long as physical and scientific evidence is used in the preparation and support of any and all charges."

Laura looked at him suspiciously, "You looked that up, didn't you?" she laughed.

Robbie smiled. "Caught up on the regs when I found out Hathaway was a former trainee Priest," he replied. "What am I going to do, Laura? I'm just not getting through to him. Even told him about me own magical ability, he just listened politely and then laughed," Robbie finished ruefully.

"I'm not surprised," Laura giggled. "Stirring your tea without touching the spoon isn't much of a power, especially when you have to put the spoon in the mug first," she laughed. "You shouldn't have skipped so many enchantment classes when you were at school."

Robbie huffed a laugh. "Aye, but what was going on behind the bike sheds was far more interesting," he joked. "Not that you're any better mind," he pointed out.

"I hope you're not suggesting it's because I spent my time behind the bike sheds as well, Robbie Lewis," she teased with a laugh, making Robbie laugh as well. "And my talent may not be that strong, but at least I can mow my lawn without leaving the patio," she disputed.

They were silent for a moment, Robbie casting another look up the towpath. "Best go have a word," he said decisively, "time to put a stop to this." He went to move off, but Laura grabbed his arm halting him.

"Robbie, he was with the Priest's for a year, "she cautioned, "he would have been subjected to all manner of magical prejudice, illegal or not, "she warned, "and the Priests only ever let the world see what they want seen."

Robbie let out a sigh, his breath visible in the cold air. Laura was one of a growing number of people who wanted the practices of the Priests to be scrutinised and laid bare to the public, convinced that the Order hid many dark and dangerous secrets.

"Necromancer's were still being murdered until the late fifties," Laura continued," no thanks to World War two and Hitler believing the nonsense that they could control the dead and part spirits from their bodies while they were still alive."

Robbie frowned at her, "So? It's the twenty-first century, Laura, times have moved on, the Priests are little more than a training centre for the magically gifted now."

"And when was the last time you came across a Priest Necromancer? When did any police force in the country call in the services of one?" Laura asked earnestly. "Never, Robbie. Not once, because there aren't any."

"They're scarce, I'll admit," Robbie argued, "what with the persecution over the centuries and all, but it's a rare magic in its own right, there's only ever been a handful every generation."

Laura gave Robbie a disappointed look. "So don't you think the Priest's would have shouted from the rooftops at having the prestige of a rare magical ability in their Order? And why did he leave after only a year?" she questioned, "Hathaway is a very smart man and he's kept his abilities to himself for a very long time, why do you think that is, Robbie?" she asked pointedly. "There's a reason James hides his abilities," she continued, "He knows the law, he's aware the general public, Traditional and Magical alike, won't and can't discriminate against him, but still he hides," she finished.

Robbie scowled at Laura for a moment and then nodded his head in acceptance, rubbing a hand wearily across his face.

"I know, you're right, it's just..." Robbie looked back up the towpath, before looking back at Laura. "It's just I wish you weren't," he finished sadly, "What time's the post mortem?" he asked, nodding towards the body.

"Won't be until tomorrow, say 9 am," Laura stated, "We have a public health audit today, so can only take bodies in," she said with obvious disgust.

Robbie squeezed Laura's shoulder, then with a quick nod turned and walked up the towpath, pulling up the collar on his jacket, trying to protect his ears from the biting wind. Robbie knew that Laura was right, why would Hathaway hide all of his magical ability? It was common knowledge around the station that the lad had once been a trainee priest and would therefore have a strong magical ability, even if his main power was Necromancy, he would still be able to conjure and more than likely have a secondary, less well developed power.

Robbie had grown up in a mixed household, his father a Traditional, his mother Magical and had attended a mixed school. Laws brought in after the Second World War had finally ensured equality for all and had taken the last of the power away from the Order of Priests. Since 1946 all government officials were democratically elected and a serving Priest could not stand for office, nationally or locally.

Robbie paused as he reached the bend in the towpath. Hathaway, now clearly visible, his back towards Robbie, seemed to be talking to himself, although Robbie suspected it more likely the spirit of their latest victim that he was chatting too.

For the hundredth time that month Robbie wished Val was still alive, she would have quickly taken Hathaway under her wing and in her gentle way she would have been able to help the tortured lad. She had been Magical, her power strong enough to be offered a place with the Priests. Thankfully for Robbie she turned it down, something she wouldn't have been able to do a hundred odd years ago. But Val wanted a family and Priests practised celibacy to keep their magic pure. Mark was born a Traditional like his granddad, but Lyn had been blessed with the power of healing, prompting her to become a nurse and limited though her power was, it enabled her to heal many minor injuries.

Robbie hurried forward as Hathaway's voice rose in panic, the lad stepping backwards from some unseen danger, before burying his face in his hands in despair.

"James? You all right, lad?" Robbie called out, stopping a few yards away as Hathaway whirled around at the sound of his voice.

"Sir," Hathaway replied his voice strained with the effort of sounding normal. Robbie read the other man's anxiety easily, the shifting from one foot to another, hands clenching and unclenching at his side. It was the closest Robbie had ever seen Hathaway to unnerved, although his face was an expressionless mask, terror shone in his eyes.

"You alright?" Robbie repeated. "Thought I heard you talking to someone," he added gently, watching in growing concern as Hathaway paled.

"No, I…I was just…"Hathaway floundered, casting a look behind him before turning to face Robbie again, nervouslyrunning a hand through his short hair.

"Laura tells me she's given you her preliminary report," Robbie cut in, knowing that to push Hathaway would not only result in the lad outright lying to him but would make him withdraw further and that was the last thing Robbie wanted to do, Laura's concerns ringing loud in his ears.

He desperately wanted to help Hathaway, for the lad to be happy and confident in his abilities, like his Val had been, like his Lyn was. Something that even with just a year in the Order Hathaway should have achieved, but he hadn't just turned his back on his magic, he denied it and it had been obvious to Robbie for some time that the lad's shields were getting weaker every day. Hathaway would undoubtedly be horrified that he had given himself away to Robbie and Laura, their suspicions of him being a Necromancer growing over the month's as Hathaway had allowed the evidence to mount.

His change of conversation seemed to baffle Hathaway for a moment before he nodded and took a step towards Robbie, quickly grabbing the opportunity to change the subject with a blatant eagerness that Robbie studiously ignored.

"Yes, she did," Hathaway confirmed, all professional now, his unease disappearing as he pulled his notebook from his overcoat pocket.

"Kings Arms is just over the bridge," Robbie said, pointing across the river, "let's grab a cuppa and get out of this wind. My entire face has gone numb."

* * *

The interior of the pub was like many others situated in the older villages, wooden beams, thick misshapen pillars of old oak, testament to the buildings centuries old age, a thick patterned red carpet covered the floor, but more importantly a huge wood fire burnt in a large fireplace filling the room with heat and light, a sign on the mantle proclaiming:

"The flame is real. DO NOT TOUCH."

Robbie unzipped his jacket with relief, ears tingling as the damage wrought by the bitter wind was soothed by the welcome warmth. He walked up to the bar smiling at the barmaid as they made eye contact. With a few whispered words the production line of glasses that were swirling around her ceased, the ones that were still in the air gently landed on the bar in neat rows, a tea towel draping over them.

"Sorry about that, my love," the barmaid smiled as she walked over to him, "just finishing off last night's empties," she explained. "What can I get you?"

"Two teas would hit the spot," Robbie smiled back, "are you serving food yet?" he queried, it was only just past ten in the morning, but Robbie had missed breakfast, as undoubtedly had Hathaway.

"Breakfast menu is still on," she replied, grabbing a menu from further up the bar to place in front of him. "Mainly bacon, eggs and the like," she explained.

Robbie cast a look over his shoulder at his sergeant, who stood in front of the fireplace staring down at the roaring fire as if mesmerised by the flickering orange flames.

"Have two bacon sarnies then," Robbie ordered, turning back to the barmaid "if that's alright?"

"Not a problem," she assured as she turned to the till and placed the order. "That will be £8.45 then, my love," she took the tenner Robbie handed over and scooped up the required coins from the till, placing the change into his hand. "I'll bring them on over to your table," she added as she moved away; heading out of the bar and to what Robbie presumed was the kitchen.

He turned and saw that Hathaway had moved from the fireplace and was now sitting at the table closest to it, his coat and scarf neatly folded over the back of one of the chairs. As Robbie walked towards him he could almost feel the weariness emanating from the lad, shoulders hunched over as a hand rubbed at his eyes.

"Ordered us a cuppa and a couple of bacon sarnies," Robbie said, as he shrugged out of his coat, placing it over Hathaway's, before sitting down. "Need something to warm us up," he added, "hasn't been this cold in years."

"Global warming, sir," Hathaway replied dryly.

"What did Laura have to say?" Robbie asked just as the barmaid approached the table placing a tray laden with two mugs, a jug of milk, sugar bowl and a large teapot.

"Sandwiches will be with you in a couple of minutes," she said as she pushed the tray further onto the table and left.

"Shall I be mother, sir?" Hathaway asked, taking the lid off the teapot and giving the brewing liquid a lazy stir.

"Aye, go on then," Robbie acquiesced.

"Our latest unidentified body is definitely our third victim," Hathaway stated as he poured out the tea, passing a mug to Robbie, before adding milk and sugar to his own and took a large sip, both hands wrapped round the mug before continuing. "Doctor Hobson puts the time of death around three am this morning. Victim is between fifty and seventy and from the condition of their clothing has probably been sleeping rough for some time," Hathaway reeled off.

"Cause of death the same as the others?" Lewis asked as he added milk to his mug of tea.

"Yes, blunt force trauma to the head and face," Hathaway confirmed, "expect we'll find more bruising on the body like the others."

"Three men, two of them confirmed alcoholics in their sixties, all habitual rough sleepers on the streets of Oxford," Robbie reiterated, "all murdered this week and none of them with a real identity. Hopefully we can put a name to our latest victim." Robbie finished sadly, knowing the chances were slim.

"All beaten to death with wooden bats of some description," Hathaway added, frowning as he watched Robbie stir his tea, the teaspoon moving in slow clockwise circles as Robbie's index finger made the same movement half an inch above the mug, words falling silently from barely moving lips, Hathaway smirked at the display as he took another sip from his own mug.

"Oh, aye," Robbie stated, "what's your power then?" He asked in mock outrage.

"Sir?" Hathaway queried as he placed his mug on the table, then seemed to realise his hands had nothing to do, so picked it back up again.

"James, you were a trainee Priest," Robbie said, fighting to the keep the exasperation  
from his tone, "you have to have a least one power, and a strong one at that!"

Robbie immediately berated himself for pushing too hard, Laura's words loud in his ears. The path set out by the Order was one of discipline, obedience, mastery of magic and the living of a simple, if somewhat harsh life. The ways of the Priests had changed very little since their conception; the only thing that had really changed was that their absolute power over the land and the people had diminished over the centuries, democracy taking over their divine right of magical rule.

Hathaway had been in training with them for over a year and for whatever reason, he had walked away from an opportunity very few were offered.

"Sir, I...," Hathaway snapped his mouth shut as the barmaid returned to the table placing a plate containing a thick bacon sandwich cut in half in front of each of them, the usual amount of greenery pubs seemed to feel the need to adorn their meals with also on the plates. Two large plastic bottles of sauce, one brown and one tomato, landed gently in the middle of the table.

"Anything else I can get you?" She asked pleasantly.

"No," Robbie said sharply, annoyed at the untimely interruption, immediately following with a far more polite," thank you, "and a gracious smile.

The barmaid smiled as she walked away with a satisfied nod.

"James?" Robbie prompted.

Hathaway let out a tired sigh. "Telekinesis," he half lied, "like you, sir."

Robbie barked out a laugh. "Give over man," he chuckled, "bet you can rearrange this room, paint and decorate it, all whilst reading a book and smoking a ciggie."

Hathaway gave a self-deprecating shrug, but Robbie noted that he didn't deny the comment.

"Why don't you use it then?" Robbie asked, as he took the top slice of bread off his sandwich and squirted the two halves with brown sauce. "Thought you were a Traditional when I first met you, then Innocent told me you'd been a trainee Priest," he remarked.

"I ...I just don't … use it," Hathaway stammered out awkwardly, picking up his sandwich and taking a bite to cover his embarrassment.

Robbie frowned at him in puzzlement, in all his years he had never come across or even heard of anyone rejecting their magic, then again it was rare to come across someone who had left the Order of Priests.

"Go on then," Robbie challenged, his tone light, "stir me tea."

Hathaway gave him an odd look as he swallowed his mouthful of sandwich, then reached across the table and grabbed the teaspoon still in Robbie's mug and gave the cooling liquid a stir.

"Not like that, you daft sod," Robbie smiled, keeping the situation light, "with your magic," he urged. "It's safe here, there's only us in here and the barmaid's got the same magic," he pressed.

Robbie was determined that Hathaway understood that whatever his true abilities, it was acceptable and normal to use them. Robbie was concerned that the lad's magic was trying to find a way out and that was why he always seemed tired, constantly having to rebuild his shields. There were experts who studied Magic and its effect on humans, Oxford had more than its fair share of them. But Robbie's and Laura's discreet enquiries had yet to find one who had studied someone who had strong magically abilities, but never used them, keeping them bottled up inside.

The reason that no studies had been done was that 99% of those with a strong ability went into the Priests and the 1% that didn't, used their magic in some way every day, like his Val, she could do the housework from the kitchen table, while writing out the weekly shopping list, or cooking the tea.

Robbie despaired over Hathaway; it was obvious he was a lonely, solitary man, whose social graces could do with a bit of work, his apparent smug and superior attitude that others saw, was in fact awkwardness and self-consciousness. A bloke of his age should be out and about at the weekends with his mates, or showing off his magic in an attempt to put a few notches on his bedpost. He shouldn't be hiding himself in his work, fighting whatever demons that drove him to conceal his abilities.

Hathaway gave Robbie a considered look, which he returned with an open and honest expression. Hathaway took a quick appraising look around the room and then gave a short nod.

Robbie watched in mounting amazement as first the contents of the table lifted into the air, then the table, closely followed by Robbie and his chair. He grabbed hold of the arms of the chair, knuckles turning white as he was levitated six feet into the air, before being gently lowered and placed exactly where he had originally been, the other items carefully returned to their starting positions.

"Bloody hell," Robbie whispered out in awe. The display of magic wasn't the most dazzlingly he had witnessed, but Robbie knew there was so much more. To do that with so little effort and with no obvious magical words or chants, he wondered just how much power was hiding in that narrow body.

"That was brilliant," he grinned as Hathaway gave him a brief smug smirk.

"All pretty standard really," Hathaway countered modestly as he picked up his mug and drained it.

"Never understood why people weren't murdered or killed magically until I read Einstein's book of Realmivity," Robbie remarked in casual conversation, before taking a large bite of his sandwich. Robbie knew Necromancy was considered one of the most powerful of all the magic's, it had also been considered one of the most evil, with practitioners of the ability being put to death by all horrid means possible a few hundred years ago, although attitudes had already started to radically change it was Einstein's book that finally debunked all the superstition that had surrounded it, of course, like all ground breaking books it had taken a while to become accepted.

"Magic can't cause harm," Hathaway stated, "took the World Wars to prove it to everyone though," he said with a surprising amount of bitterness to his tone. "It takes too much mental power to magically hurt another being, regardless of their abilities."

"Aye," Robbie agreed as he swallowed his mouthful. "Like a Pyro? The flame they create has heat, but can't burn."

"Exactly, sir, and if they manipulate a real flame," Hathaway nodded towards the fireplace, "it will also lose its ability to burn as it's merged with magic. It's like there's a failsafe embedded in magic," he suggested.

Robbie gave a puzzled frown. "A failsafe?" he queried.

"Yes, sir. When you were suspended in the air, I couldn't make you land with any force, even if I had withdrawn my magic, you would still have been lowered at a set pace," he highlighted his point with a flick of his hand," and I certainly couldn't have launched the crockery with any speed to shatter against the wall, no one can do that, "Hathaway explained, lowering his gaze to his barely eaten sandwich.

Robbie gave Hathaway a speculative look, noting that the lad broke eye contact as he uttered the last of his words, making Robbie wonder again how much magic Hathaway was hiding.

Robbie had just taken another bite of his sandwich, noting that Hathaway had eaten less than half of one of his when his mobile rang. He dug the phone out of his suit pocket, desperately chewing and swallowing with an audible gulp.

"Ma'am," he greeted, the call didn't last long, with two "yes ma'am's", and it was over.

"Need to get back to the station," he told Hathaway as he hung up. "CPS want to go over a few things on the Channing's case."

Hathaway nodded and stood up, passing Robbie his coat as he slipped into his own, scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. Robbie zipped his back up, before snagging some of the napkins from the tea tray and wrapping up his half of uneaten sandwich and then Hathaway's, pushing the bundle into the lad's hands.

"Cost me the best part of a tenner," he said simply, "you can finish them off for lunch."

Hathaway rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Go home, James," Robbie suddenly said, "and get some rest. I'll get Hooper and some uniformed to do a canvas of the area, see if they turn anything up. Though I expect we'll have to wait on the forensics like the others. If only that damn Second-Sighter wasn't so bloody useless, we might have had something else to go on."

"Sir," Hathaway protested, "I can do..."

"I need you rested, Sergeant," Robbie interrupted, "I know damn well you pulled an all-nighter. So go home, get some kip and I'll pick you up at 8.30 am tomorrow for the post mortem," Robbie ordered.

"Yes, sir," was Hathaway's unhappy reply.


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as James returned to his flat he abandoned the sandwiches on the kitchen table and changed into jeans and a hoodie. He poured himself a more than generous measure of Glenfiddich single malt whisky, downing half of the amber liquid in one disrespectful gulp, instead of taking the usual appreciative sip to savour the smooth, rich, mellow taste of the expensive drink.

James sat down heavily on the sofa, placing the glass of whisky on the coffee table in front of him, and placing his elbows on knees covered his face with his hands. His body vibrating as his emotions began to catch up with him.

"For fuck sake," he shouted into his hands, moving them to fist in his hair and pull at it savagely. "I don't want it, I don't fucking want it," he yelled, the last word catching on a sob as he discarded the punishment on his hair, moving his hands to rub harshly at his eyes with the heel of his hands.

"I don't want it," he repeated in a whisper as he leant forward again and laced his fingers behind the back of his neck, rocking himself forwards and back.

His father had been an estate manager, his mother a homemaker and both of them had been Traditional, as had all of his family. Not one single solitary drop of magical blood flowed in his family's veins, and by some bizarre freak of nature he had not just been born Magical, but born with the power of all the Magic's.

To make matters worse he had also been cursed with a near genius intelligence, and his parents had no idea how to handle either affliction, so he quickly learnt to keep both concealed. Or at least he tried to, but every so often the magic would slip out. When he was ten he started to see spirits, when he was eleven he opened a vortex, to this day James had no idea how he had done it, how he had known the right words to say. It was the one and only time his father had physically punished him, striking out in terror and fear of his son.

He had learnt to better control his magic after that, heading into the copse of woods a mile or so away from the estate buildings when he felt the pressure build, secretly plying his Magic, but feeling guilty that he had given into it.

James took a shuddering breath and sat up, grabbing the glass from the table and finishing off its contents.

He felt guilty now for not using his magic, for letting Lewis down and lying to him by way of omission. Why the fuck couldn't he have been Traditional. He jumped up from the sofa and started to pace, biting at his thumb nail as he paced back and forth, six steps, turn, six steps, turn, six steps, over and over again. His mind whirled as he tried to figure out what to do.

When he had first entered the Order of Priests he had been elated, for the very first time in his life he had started to feel that he belonged. It was a simple life, the monastery had no electricity or running water and provided for itself, growing its own food and kept livestock for meat, milk, cheese and eggs. It was a way of life that James quickly grew accustomed to, his hesitant use of magic encouraged and praised, and his thirst of knowledge satisfied when he was appointed apprentice Priest Scribe. A mere six months into his training and he was to become a future keeper of Priest history and his days were filled with hard work, magic and shelf upon shelf of ancient and modern texts.

It was in these manuscripts that James learned the views the Order held about Necromancers and how they dealt with what they perceived to be a blasphemous evil. Making him even more grateful of the years spent concealing his true magic and that his hesitance of using his powers had kept him from revealing it to the priests and other trainees. The Order had thankfully no idea that he had the power of all the Magic's, especially Necromancy, James only having shown his power of Telekinesis whilst in the monastery, acutely aware that the other trainees had only one power.

With no one to turn to for advice, James left the Order after his first year of training, much to the shock and surprise of the monastery Priests. The Priests had tried to dissuade him from leaving and had they know about his necromancy, he doubted they would have let him go so easily. Telekinesis was amongst the more common magic's and so the Priests had released him from the Order.

And now he found himself agonising over whether to open a vortex or not. To practice the very magic that had terrified his parents, that was considered a scourge by the Priests and was so unknown by those outside the Order, that even if it was accepted, he would still become a freak, a media curiosity, never to find the peace and true acceptance that he so desperately yearned for.

But to open the vortex and call forth the homeless victims spirits could provide him and Lewis with the means of catching the killers and ensuring there were no more victims. They could find out their names, if they had family to claim them, to give peace and closure to.

James had learnt more from Lewis in the few months he had become his bagman than he had with DI Knox in twice the length of time. Lewis had given him an opportunity to shine, to at last gain the trust and respect of the other sergeants and the junior officers. When Lewis reprimanded him it was behind a closed door and not overheard by the entire Incident Room.

Lewis had become his mentor, had become someone he could trust with almost anything, he could show his intelligence, was allowed to follow his hunches, and knew that he was trusted by Lewis in return.

And today he had taken one of the biggest leaps of faith ever by showing Lewis some of his magic and the older man had been enthralled, happy even, to see James wield it.

James stopped his pacing and headed for the kitchen, rummaging in the cupboard under the sink until he found a box of six white candles, he pulled one out and headed back to the living room, snagging last Friday's edition of _The Oxford Times _and placing it in the centre of the coffee table. He sat crossed legged in front of the table and lit the candle, holding it at an angle over the paper so that large globs of wax fell onto it, slowly rotating the candle around so that it burned evenly. Once enough hot wax had accumulated he pushed the base of the candle into it, securing it to the newspaper.

With a sigh of disgust he stood up and moved to pull the curtains shut, sending the room into semi darkness, the candle flame burning brightly. He grabbed a pen and pad of paper from one of his overflowing bookshelves and sat back down.

He focused on the flame, breathing slowly in and out. The throbbing in his head, brought on by exhaustion and whisky, slowly ebbed away as he concentrated on the flickering flame. His hands cupped his knees as he continued to breathe evenly, clearing his mind of everything except the flame.

The words flickered through his mind; he closed his eyes and allowed them to form, magic jolted through his limbs and he opened his eyes to see the vortex forming. Although the word vortex conjured up an image of the Realms clashing and fighting in a flurry of turbulence to exist in the same place it was in fact nothing more than a simple shimmer, making the wall in front of James look distorted.

"I call forth the spirits in the Forbidden Realm to hear my call," James said out loud, his stomach clenching with nerves," I seek those who in this Realm had their lives ended in violence within the walls of Oxford these past seven days," James had no idea if this would work, he had never actually called for a spirit from the Forbidden Realm before and had only the guidance of his magic to steer him in the right direction. He could feel a tremor start to run through his hands as the effort, to not only open but sustain the vortex's stability, started to take its toll.

"Bloody hell," a voice suddenly yelled out, "you're the copper?" The vortex shimmer fluctuated in broad waves for a moment before solidifying and three spirits stood just inside the vortex threshold. All three were grey haired, their faces lined with age and the abuses of addiction.

James stared at the sight before him, unbelieving that he had successfully called forth the correct spirits.

"Well? Are you or aren't you?" the spirit he met this morning asked.

"Erm…..yes, I'm Detective Sergeant James Hathaway, Oxfordshire Police," James stammered out. "I'm investigating your murders and I...I wondered if I could ask you some questions."

"Weren't too keen to know this morning," the spirit replied sarcastically.

"Yes, I'm sorry, but you were telling me about how you died and you can't do that," James explained in a panicked rush," you'll spend an eternity in torment if you reveal the manner of your death to someone from the Other Realm….." James broke off with a frown as all three spirits started to laugh.

"Man, who told you that," replied the spirit in the middle with a laugh and a shake of his head.

"Not true then?" James asked as he blushed with embarrassment. He couldn't recall when he had first been told the now obviously false bit of information; but it must have been when he was young, as he'd just seemed to have known it forever.

"No, lad, it's not true," the first spirit confirmed in a kindly tone. "There's no torment in this Realm, just peace. Us telling you our stories is just going to add to our contentment, especially if you catch those murdering buggers."

By the time James had finished taking their statements he was starting to shake badly from the effort of keeping the vortex open, it was an added effort to keep his cramping right hand from shaking so that he could write coherently.

Between the three of them the spirits had been able to give descriptions of all three assailants, their movements during the day of their death had been harder to piece together, but James had been able to establish two places that connected the three men, he even had their proper identities and names and last known addresses of family members.

He had just finished writing the last of the family members names when he felt the vortex start to fade, he stretched out his trembling left arm in an effort to channel his concentration, his breathing coming in ragged pants as he fought to keep it open.

"Let it go, lad," Mike, the newly identified, first spirit advised, "you've got all the information we can give you. Just…let us know, yeah, if you catch 'em," he asked as the other two nodded in agreement and together they all stepped back from the vortex threshold, it shimmered for a moment, and then gently dissipated as if it had never been there.

James slumped forward, resting his forehead on the coffee table, his arms hanging limply by his sides as he gulped in air. He turned his head and looked at the sheets of paper filled with his handwriting and smiled. He'd done it; he'd gotten them some leads, something for Lewis and him to get their teeth into, to track down the murderers. It had been an effort, his body sagging with exhaustion, but a sense of achievement ran through him, that he'd been able to put his curse to good use.

He slowly lifted his head and blew out the candle, plunging the room into pitch blackness, with the help of the coffee table he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled to the wall, hand groping for the light switch, squeezing his eyes shut at the sudden glare of the light as he flipped the switch.

Still squinting he shuffled into his bedroom and flopped down on the bed still fully clothed, with a groan he pulled his mobile from his back pocket and set the alarm. He frowned when he noticed that it was only five pm, he let out an astonished breath, he'd held the vortex open for more than five hours.

He placed the phone on the bedside table, and rolled onto his back, his last conscious thought was how the hell he was going to tell Lewis about the statements he'd taken.

* * *

James flung open the door of the building and stumbled down the steps, uncaring of the startled looks he received as he made his way hastily across the morgue's car park, only stopping once he reached the dubious safety of the pavement. He gulped in the cold winter air, trying to control his rising panic as he fought to undo his collar and loosen his tie. As he paced between a rubbish bin and lamp post he patted down the pockets of his suit jacket and trousers with trembling hands only to come up empty as he realised his cigarettes were in his overcoat pocket, which was still inside the morgue.

With a groan of despair he ran his hands through his hair, his right moving to clutch his forehead as he curled his left into a fist and started to hit the side of his head with hard punches.

The morgue was always full of spirits, bizarrely deciding to leave their bodies as the post mortem was about to be performed, resulting in terrified apparitions. Several of them would figure out that he could see them, could talk to them and they either begged him for help or they condemned him for being what he was, lashing out in fear and horror.

James despaired over why he couldn't maintain his mental shields, why he couldn't shut them out. He had expelled more magic yesterday then he had in his entire life, without the constant pressure of the buzzing magic he should have been able to re-establish his shields easily, but something else was stopping him and for the life of him he couldn't figure out what.

"That's enough of that," a voice told him sternly as his left forearm was grabbed in a painful hold and pulled away from his head, he jerked round to come face to face with Lewis. His right arm dropped to his side, his face flushing with mortification.

"Sir I... I'm…," he darted a glance around, suddenly very aware that he stood next to a busy road on a very public pavement, his flush deepened. "Sir, I'm sorry, I…." it occurred to him that he had no idea how to explain his behaviour.

"Bloody freezing out here," was all Lewis said as he released his grip on James' arm and handed him his coat and scarf.

James slipped into his coat, patting the pockets to reassure himself that his cigarette pack and lighter were indeed there, before hanging the scarf loosely around his neck.

"Think we need to have a chat, James," Lewis told him firmly. "Come on," Lewis turned and started to walk back towards the car park entrance. James automatically fell into step beside him although his heart pounded in his chest; the thought of going back inside the building making his stomach churn painfully as he struggled not to hyperventilate.

"I'm sorry, sir, I can't," he said as he stopped halfway back to the building, causing Lewis to turn and look at him. He opened his mouth to explain but ended up closing it and shaking his head, taking a step backwards.

He couldn't help the flinch when Lewis reached out and grabbed his elbow failing to register that the grip, though firm, was gentle.

"It's alright," Lewis said calming, taking a step closer, "we're not going back inside, just heading for the car," he reassured, gently tugging at James' elbow, "expect the morgue is teaming with spirits today, what with the audit and the M40 crash, poor buggers," he added sadly.

James stopped dead, pulling his arm free as he stared at Lewis in horror.

"W what?" he stammered out.

"I know you can see the spirits, lad," Lewis replied evenly. "Time for you to stop hiding and for us to figure out what we're going to do about it, eh? Can't carry on like this."

James followed numbly behind Lewis as they headed for the car, feeling that he had no other choice, that he had nowhere to run to, his mind awash with scenarios, and each one worse than the other.

Could he convince Lewis to keep his secret, so that he could quietly resign, move away, and start again? But where, doing what? What if Lewis told Innocent, she'd undoubtedly tell the Chief Constable and then what? They couldn't openly discriminate against him, but perhaps he could offer to resign in return for their silence? Or maybe having a Necromancer in the Police Service would be seen as an asset? They would go public, create a media circus … and the Order of Priests would find out.

* * *

Robbie looked over at Hathaway slumped on his sofa; the lad was bent forward with forearms on his knees staring resolutely at the living room carpet. Robbie felt his heart clench at the dejected sight it made.

"Here," he said, handing Hathaway a plate with a slice of toast and marmalade on it, he placed the tea on the coffee table, and headed back into the kitchen for his own brew and one of the dining table chairs so that he could sit in front of Hathaway while they talked.

"Thank you, sir, but I'm not hungry," Hathaway said as Robbie made himself comfortable across from him, putting the plate on the table between them. "Sorry, sir," he mumbled.

"You're going to be nothing more than skin and bones the way you're going on," Robbie replied gruffly.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Hathaway with head bent continuing his intent stare of the carpet between his feet and Robbie with no idea what was going through the lad's head and floundering on how to get the conversation going.

"How did you find out?" Hathaway suddenly said, sitting upright but still avoiding eye contact, "That I'm a ….Necromancer."

"Laura first pointed it out," Robbie replied carefully, expecting the look of shocked horror as Hathaway finally looked at him. "She noticed how you acted around murder victims and in the morgue, but it didn't seem to be the bodies themselves that bothered you. Once we kept a closer eye on you, it became obvious that you were seeing something that no one else could and then you started to talk to them," Robbie smiled, "all discreet, like."

"Not discreet enough," Hathaway muttered bitterly.

"Laura noted that you never used your magic and being a trainee Priest you would have had a strong magic," Robbie forged on, "She thought it was bad for you, keeping it all inside and I …" Robbie let out a huff of laughter, "I just couldn't understand why you hid it. My Val was invited to join the Priests…."

"Your wife?" Hathaway interjected, looking dazed.

"Aye, our Val," Robbie smiled, "she turned them down, obviously. But she used her magic every day. She could be in the kitchen cooking the tea and changing the sheets on the beds at the same time. Should have seen it in the mornings," Robbie reminisced, "clothes whizzing about the place, breakfast and packed lunches being made in the kitchen, Val refereeing the kids and me stirring me bloody tea with me finger hovering over it and mumbling out the words," Robbie grinned at the memory. "And try sleeping in when she didn't want you too," he added with a chuckle, remembering fighting with a duvet that wouldn't stay put.

"My family were all Traditional, centuries old Traditional," Hathaway said quietly, dropping his gaze, "they didn't know what to make of me. I used to sneak off and practice my magic in the woods, learned how to do some of it properly with books from the library."

"Must have done enchantment classes at school?" Robbie asked carefully, grateful that Hathaway was talking, but terrified that he would put his foot in it somehow and make the lad clam up.

"Village school," Hathaway explained, "only had two teachers, infants and juniors. They taught all the subjects, they were both Traditional as well, so enchantment class was just reading from books, it was all theory and not very advance."

"What about secondary school?" Robbie winced internally as he noticed Hathaway tense up.

"Went to private school, sir," he replied readily enough, "won a full scholarship to The Blessed Lady Academy," he added with a self-deprecating smirk.

"Ah," Robbie commented, recognizing the famous name. The academy was a leftover relic of the time of Separation. Where you lived, if you received an education, what job you held, who you could marry, was all dependant on whether you were Magical or Traditional. A social experiment that had lasted less than a hundred years and had been abandoned for over half a millennium, but the Blessed Lady had somehow managed to survive and cling onto the basic Separation principle.

Tucked away in the vast countryside of the Oxfordshire/Warwickshire border, it prided itself on turning out well educated Traditional's, able to compete with the Magical for positions of power and wealth. The Academy had fought for years to keep magic out of its ancient halls, be it pupils, enchantment classes or even history, teaching its own version, focusing on Traditional achievements only. Through riot, siege and social upheaval it had managed to survive but had finally lost its battle after years of legal wrangling. It became the last school in the country forced to accept the implemented laws on education and discrimination and become a mixed school, teaching the national curriculum, in 1998, after Hathaway had left.

Robbie felt his heart break for the young lad sat in front of him, fingers interlocked and squeezed almost white in an attempt, Robbie presumed, to stop from fidgeting.

Born of strong magic, Hathaway had never been encouraged and never instructed how to use it, the lad was purely self-taught. Robbie took a steadying breath as he prepared himself to ask the question that all his instincts told him were the real start of the young man's problems.

"What about the Priests?" he asked quietly, "must have been a haven when you joined, able to use your magic, shown how to do it properly? With magic like yours you could have become the Priest Chamberlain."

Silence hit the room again, only the sound of Hathaway's suddenly ragged breathing breaking through it.

"James, I know we haven't known each other that long," Robbie said, "but we've been through a hellva a lot and I know that what you've told me today, you wouldn't have told me if you didn't feel you had to," Robbie moved to perch on the edge of his seat, reaching across to gently curl his hand around the younger man's forearm, causing Hathaway to look up at Robbie with such misery reflected in his eyes that Robbie almost gasped out loud.

"I swear you can trust me, lad," Robbie promised, "I hope over the months I've proved that to you and whatever you tell me, it'll go no further, unless you want it too," Robbie stressed.

"Sir, I … I've never had anyone to tell this to," Hathaway replied as he shook his head, "I didn't think anyone would believe me, not even you, sir."

"Try me," Robbie suggested confidently, giving Hathaway's arm a squeeze before leaning back into his chair.

"When I was in my last year at university I … I saved a woman's life," Hathaway started hesitantly, "I used magic to do it and a Priest saw me. He sought me out, we talked and he invited me to join the Order. I liked what he told me, so after I finished Uni, I did."

Hathaway paused for a moment, rubbing his hands together nervously. Robbie resisted the urge to interrupt and clarify certain points, but it wasn't an interrogation after all, and Robbie feared doing so would put the lad off, or he would only get the edited version and Robbie knew that Hathaway needed to tell his tale in all its glory and at his own pace.

And so Robbie let James talk, hoping thatin doing so Robbie would prove to him that he could help him, that together they could get to the bottom of why the lad was seeing spirits, having guessed that Hathaway's shields were failing him, otherwise he wouldn't have fallen apart so spectacularly at the morgue.

"You're right, sir, it was a haven. I loved it," Hathaway continued sadly, "it was a basic way of life, no mod cons, not even running water. Had to fetch what we needed from the well. The Priests were patient with me, I was so reluctant to use my magic, but they never pressured me, letting me find my own pace," Hathaway paused as he ran a hand through his hair, Robbie noting that it trembled.

"They made me the apprentice Priest Scribe, it was a huge honour and I had virtually unrestricted access to their library," Hathaway smiled wryly, "I truly thought I couldn't get any happier, sir," Hathaway stopped speaking; chewing on his thumbnail, a habit that Robbie had already figured out the lad did when distressed.

"But then something happened?" Robbie prompted quietly as the silence descended once again.

"When I was studying the library," Hathaway continued after a moment, his hands now cupping his knees," I came across manuscripts that detailed the trial and executions of Necromancers, they were very detailed, sir." Robbie noticed that Hathaway's breathing was becoming ragged again. "I …I realise that the trials were what happened centuries ago and I thought it was a good thing that the Priests didn't try and hide the past, that they accepted the darkness that once surrounded them. But I found new texts and books mentioning the same type of tortures and the last entry I found detailing a Necromancers death was dated 4th May …. 1989," Robbie stared at Hathaway in shock. "I'm sorry, sir, I swear everything I've told you is true. I'll resign. I'll leave Oxford, but please sir, I beg you not to reveal what I am to anyone, "Hathaway blurted out in a rush, his face stark white, fear emanated from him in waves.

"Don't be daft, lad," Robbie said more harshly than he meant as he shook himself free of his shock, he swiftly stood up as Hathaway bolted to his feet, managing to grab the younger man and halt his progress.

"I didn't mean it like that, James," Robbie hurriedly reassured. "Of course I believe you. I have no idea what we're going to do about it, but I believe you."

He pushed Hathaway back down on the sofa, Hathaway sitting down almost boneless.

"No wonder you left," Robbie said with sympathy.

"I had no idea if I could control that part of my magic, I couldn't take the risk," Hathaway replied wretchedly.

"So why can't you control it now?" Robbie asked, "Why are you seeing spirits? Or have you always seen them?" He asked as the thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Yes, sir," Hathaway replied forlornly, "I used to be able to shut it all out, but these last four months or so I ….I can't."

"We've been working together for just over six months," Robbie said cautiously, not quite sure where he was going with it.

"I don't think it has anything to do with you, sir," Hathaway said with a genuine smile, albeit a small one.

"Laura seems to think that keeping all that powerful magic inside, it's got to be doing some harm, needs releasing regular, like," Robbie haltingly tried to explained.

"But I used my magic yesterday, and it hasn't made a difference," Hathaway replied his tone full of despair as he lent his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes.

"Well, it wasn't a lot of magic, not really," Robbie replied, "Expect you'll have to use a lot more than that to start making a difference." He frowned as Hathaway suddenly sat up straight.

"I opened a damn vortex yesterday," Hathaway stated angrily. "I held it open for five hours! How much more magic have I got to use to get control of my shields again?"

"You opened a vortex?" Robbie asked in astonishment. "Why?"

"We didn't seem to be getting anywhere with the case, sir," Hathaway replied, his anger draining away to be replaced with contriteness. "We had no real identities on the victims, no witness', waiting on forensics and you were disappointed with the results the Second-Sighter gave us, sir. I thought….."

"You'd open a vortex and call forth the spirits," Robbie summed up as he interrupted, "You've done it before though, haven't you?"

Hathaway shook his head. "No sir, I opened a vortex when I was a child just for a few moments, last night was the first time I meant to do it, I didn't know if I could call the spirits, if it would work."

"Which you obviously did," Robbie replied. "You spoke to the spirits," he added with certainty

"Yes sir, "Hathaway replied cautiously, "I spoke to all three," He pulled a sheaf of papers from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "They gave me their statements and their identities and next of kin details and I think there are a couple of good leads we can look into, sir." He held out the papers to Robbie, who took them and started to scan through them.

"Good work, James," he praised, looking up just in time to see Hathaway flush with pleasure, "We'll go through these in more detail after we've had some lunch," Robbie watched as Hathaway's expression morphed into one of anxiety. "Don't worry, any leads we track down we'll put down to the gift of Second-Sight, how's that sound?"

He smiled as Hathaway nodded in relief.

"Which leaves us to sort out you," Robbie assessed.

"Me, sir?" Hathaway asked in puzzlement.

"Yes, you sergeant," Robbie said in exasperation. "Well, until we can figure it out you're staying away from the morgue, can't guarantee you won't run into the odd spirit at a crime scene, of course and you're also going to go make an appointment with your doctor, for today," he added, giving Hathaway a stern look, "rule out anything physically wrong with you. You're also going to start to get a full night's kip every night, eat three meals a day and practice a bit of magic every day," he reeled off.

Robbie smiled as Hathaway's expression fought between annoyance and gratefulness.

"I don't know what we're going to do about the Priests, lad," Robbie said seriously as he sat back down with a sigh. "As long as we keep your Necromancy under wraps you should be safe, but sooner or later, we're going to have to do something. Although right now, I don't know what," Robbie admitted.

"They've been getting away with it for centuries, sir," Hathaway replied. "Not sure a couple of local coppers are going to be able to do to stop it."

Robbie reluctantly nodded his agreement. "Well, first off, let's get this case solved and you sorted and then we'll talk about the Priests." Robbie stood back up, "But as you've rejected me culinary skills," nodding towards the plate of cold toast, "we best go and get some lunch from the pub, then we'll get to work on these," he finished, waving the papers Hathaway had given him.

Robbie moved out of the living room, Hathaway on his heels and grabbed their coats and scarves. He noticed that Hathaway seemed calmer, more centred even and Robbie smiled to himself, they weren't out of the woods yet, but at least they seemed to have found a path that would eventually lead them out.


	3. Chapter 3

James could hear Lewis chuckle behind him as he finished making a note of the broken streetlights number, sliding his notebook back into his pocket as he turned to face his boss, his features a ghostly glow in the reflection of James' torch beam as the light bounced off the pavement between them.

"It's the third one tonight, sir," he said, defensively.

"No, it's a good idea, letting the council know they're broken," Lewis smiled, teeth white in the darkness, "it's just you tutting every time you see one, sound like a disapproving school ma'am."

"Thank you, sir," James replied dryly.

It had turned into another long day and exhaustion dragged at James, but he also felt more in control than he had for months, years even. Their case was back to being red hot, with the information provided by the three spirits leading them to a suspect, a young man by the name of Shaun Kutty, a recent employee of the Martha House shelter.

A visit to his home had resulted in the gentle questioning of his 89 year old grandmother, who had revealed the less than happy childhood of Kutty at the hands of his alcoholic parents and his disgust at the recent rule changes at the shelter that now offered rehabilitation programs to those with addictions, Kutty had resigned the previous week.

They took a left off St Aldates and walked along the footpath that led to Christ Church Meadow as they made their way to the river.

"Here," Lewis suddenly said to him, nudging his side. In the orange glare of a working street lamp James could see Lewis holding out a chocolate bar.

"Thank you, sir," he said as he took the offered bar, quickly opened it and took a large bite.

"So much for getting you an early night," Lewis uttered as he squinted at his watch.

"Quarter to eleven, sir," James informed him between mouthfuls of chocolate.

It was now Lewis' turn to tut, both of them smiling at the sound.

"I wanted to thank you, sir, for earlier," James said as he swallowed the last mouthful of chocolate and crunched up the wrapper before placing it and his clenched fist into the depths of his coat pocket. "With Innocent," he clarified.

"No need for that, lad," Lewis replied, "Letting Innocent think you got the information from Second-Sight isn't going to do any harm."

Innocent had given James a dressing down after Lewis had revealed that James "had a bit of a talent at Second-Sight" and had come up with the connection from visions of the victims clothing and few personal items. Although Innocent had started off irritated that James had only just revealed that particular magical talent, the telling off had quickly, to James horror and Lewis's amusement, turned to one of almost parental concern and had ended up with him being praised for finally using his magic and finding a new lead.

After leaving the Chief Supers office Lewis had ensured that they both grabbed a plate of shepherd's pie from the canteen. Innocent had conferred with the local homeless charities in the city to try and safeguard those at possible risk from Kutty and the two accomplices the spirits had mentioned but had been unable to give more than descriptions, whereas they had all recognised Kutty from their visits to Martha House

Although Oxford ran a "no-second night" scheme, ensuring that no-one spent more than one night sleeping rough, there were some who were constantly finding themselves on the streets. Either being evicted from homes they had been found due to their behaviour or going on a binge and forgetting where they lived and settling down for the night wherever they found themselves.

Innocent's meeting had resulted in a list of five names, all with a serious alcoholic problem and all of them having registered at Martha House whilst Kutty worked there. Three of them were the murdered victims, one had been found safe and sound in a temporary hostel accommodation and one was still missing and every available officer was out looking for him.

They turned on their torches as they took a right turn and the street lamps and light from the city faded as trees bordered the city side of the narrowing path.

"Best call it a night," Robbie suggested, "could walk right past him and wouldn't know it, we'll have to get…."

"Sir!" James suddenly whispered out, "over there," he pointed towards a nearby copse of trees, his other hand coming up to touch the back of Lewis' shoulder. Lewis suddenly lurched away with a strangled shout, as if he'd received an electric shock. James stumbled backwards in surprise, staring at Lewis in alarm.

"Sir?" he queried with concern.

"Is it still there?" Lewis replied with his own query, staring out into the darkness.

"Yes, sir, I'm sorry sir, it's a spirit," he confirmed, as he watched the apparition filter in and out of the trees, bright against the night, "we've a dead body somewhere…." He trailed off as Lewis took a step towards him and clasped his shoulder, scouring the dark park...

"Touch me like you did before," Lewis said urgently, his hand dropping away from James' shoulder.

"Sir?" James asked in puzzlement.

"Just do it man, before it's too late," Lewis quietly barked back.

Bemused by the older man's request James nevertheless obeyed and touched the back of Lewis' shoulder again, feeling Lewis flinch before looking over at James in awe.

"I see it," Lewis smiled, "I see the spirit, there," he said, as he turned and pointed directly at it.

"But that's…." _impossible _James was about to reply, but obviously it wasn't. Very little was known about the practice of Necromancy, the truth shrouded in centuries old superstition and fear.

"Is it fading away?" Lewis asked, breaking into James' thoughts.

"Yes, sir, he could have only left his body a few minutes ago, he's passing over to the Forbidden Realm," James explained as they both stood and watched the spirit dwindle away.

"Call it in," Lewis ordered, back to business. "Get a search team and SOCO down here, we'll….," he trailed off as they both turned quickly in the direction of a loud string of expletives that disturbed the night, other less distinct voices rose up before everything became quiet once again.

At Lewis' nod both men quickly headed back up the footpath, James pulled his phone from his coat and dialled the control room, the call swiftly answered, but before he could reply, three figures appeared before them at the crossroad of the path carrying something heavy between them.

"Oi," Lewis called out loudly, "Oxfordshire Police, stay where you…." The figures threw down their burden and scarpered along the path, "…..every bloody time," Lewis swore as he took off after them, James on his heels as he yelled directions and instructions into the phone.

"They're heading for the back of the station, cheeky buggers," Lewis panted out as James pocketed his phone. "They'll have to cut through the Row, cut them off," he ordered as they came out of the park.

James veered off and cut through a deserted car park, scaling a wall to land in the alley that ran behind St Aldates Police Station, he ran up the alley using a wheelie bin to scramble over the brick wall that separated the long defunct alley with Floyds Row, he landed with a grunt and took off up the Row back towards Lewis, who should have appeared by now. His heart pounding in his chest with fear and exertion he rounded the end of Floyds Row and skidded to a halt as he saw Lewis on his knees, bent double, one arm against his stomach, the other trembling as it struggled to hold him up. The three suspects surrounded him, one of them bringing up a baseball bat to strike at the back of Lewis' unprotected head and James knew he was too far away to stop the blow from landing.

With an anguished yell he ran forward a few steps, arms held forward in front of him, palms clenched together, as his magic burned through his limbs in throbbing waves of agony. Necromancy, Pyro, Telekinesis and all the other magic'sdwelling inside him, weaved and mingled together, tearing through his tormented body to burst in iridescent blue pulses from his hands. James cried out as he fought to control the magic, separating it into three streams to hit the suspects directly, the force sending them flying into an ancient boundary wall with bone breaking force to fall forward in unconscious heaps.

James fell to his knees, falling heavily against the side of a building, magic spent, gulping in desperate lungful's of air, fighting to stay conscious as dark spots danced in front of his eyes, his ears roaring with the sound of his own pounding heartbeat.

He jerked as a hand touched his shoulder, another gripping his upper arm as the movement threatened to tumble him face first into the tarmac. He struggled to look up into the concerned face of Lewis who crouched down beside him, the older man's arms going around his shoulders to hug him to his chest.

"It's okay, James," he heard Lewis say over the roaring in his ears, "Even breaths lad, that's right," he coached. "Thank you, James for saving me life," a gentle comforting hand brushed through his hair. "I'll keep you safe, lad," were the last words he heard as he slid into unconsciousness.

* * *

"You sure you're up to this, James," Robbie said with concern, as he placed the two mugs of tea on the coffee table, eying the candle set up in the middle of it with disapproval. "You've only been out of the hospital a few days."

"I'm fine, sir," came the confident reply from James, as he waggled his fingers from his slouched position on the sofa, one of the mugs lifting from the table and levitating towards him. With an audible sigh Robbie plucked the mug from the air and handed it to the younger man, receiving a grateful, if somewhat cheeky grin in return.

Robbie had to concede that the lad did look far better than he had for a while. Regular meals had filled out the hollows and sharp lines giving James a far healthier look, the dark circles under his eyes greatly diminishing with regular sleep. But it was the lack of shadows lurking in the depths of James' eyes that told Robbie that the younger man really was on the road to recovery.

Robbie sat down carefully on the sofa next to the lad, so as not to slosh the mug of tea balanced on his chest.

"I promised I'll tell them, sir," James quietly said, avoiding Robbie's gaze as he took a sip of tea.

"Aye, I know," Robbie nodded, "I'm just worried about you holding open a vortex, you haven't done much magic since that night; don't want you having a relapse."

"I cleaned the whole flat without leaving the sofa yesterday, sir," James countered. "Did it in the time it took you to wash the dishes," he added with a smirk.

Robbie returned the smile, "Smart arse."

It had been a week since the night at Floyd Row. Shaun Kutty and his two accomplices, Matthew Jenkins and Reggie Jackson had been remanded in custody three days ago for the murder of the four rough sleepers after a stay in hospital to treat broken limbs and a concussion each.

James had remained unconscious for over 24 hours and had been diagnosed with nervous exhaustion. After three days in the hospital Robbie had taken pity on him and had reassured the doctors that James would be well looked after at home and Robbie would personally ensure that he did nothing but rest and eat balanced meals.

James shifted beside him, sitting up straight and placed his finished mug of tea on the table.

"I wanted to thank you, sir," he suddenly said, "for everything. For believing me about the Priests and for keeping what I did that night out of the reports. I still have no idea how I did it," he added in astonishment.

"Build-up of all that magic, I expect," Robbie guessed. "It had to go somewhere, James," he turned his head to look at the lad. "And it should be me thanking you, if you hadn't done what you did….." Robbie let his words trail off, the pair of them sitting in silence for a moment.

"Did you good though," Robbie commented.

"Sir?"

"Releasing all that magic, you got your control back, haven't you?" Robbie asked. "You're feeling better about it."

James nodded his agreement. "I think sir, that more importantly, having people I can be honest with, be my true self around them, has been more beneficial," Robbie smiled at the pink tinge staining his sergeants' cheeks.

"Laura and I won't betray your trust," he solemnly promised.

Laura Hobson had taken James under her wing, her own Magical power wasn't much stronger than Robbie's but she could conjure and work spells and had started to give James a more formal Magical education, something that the young man was lapping up, even though it already came naturally to him. Robbie wasn't entirely sure that it was Laura's lessons that James' looked forward to but more the fact that for the first time in his life he didn't have to hide his abilities, now performing magic comfortably in front of both of them.

Neither of them had pushed James to use the power of Necromancy, worried that it was too soon after the magical overload and could do the young man more harm, but James had been insistent that he wanted to contact the murder victim's spirits and let them know that they had received justice. That their murderers would be old men themselves before they even became eligible for parole.

More importantly for James he wanted to let them know that their families had been tracked down and all of their bodies had been claimed.

"Let's get this done before Laura finds out," Robbie suggested, picking up James lighter from the table and lighting the candle. "Do you need the lights out?"

"No, I don't think so," James replied. "Just need something to focus on while I make a connection."

Robbie watched as James rubbed his hands nervously down his jean clad thighs, and took a few deep breaths as he prepared to open the vortex.

It was a new beginning for James and if he was honest, for himself too. The lad had given him purpose and direction again and he hoped he had given James the confidence to truly be himself. He gave a start as James grabbed his hand, the world lurching for a moment before his perception changed and he saw the shimmer of the vortex open.

As Robbie was drawn into the magic, he knew that a bigger challenge lay ahead of them, one day soon he and James would have to deal with the Order of Priests and the indiscriminate murder of Necromancers.

One day…

The End


End file.
